Demons
by Evie1989
Summary: {"You barely even register it as the amber liquid pours down your throat. After several beers and five shots of bourbon you don't feel the burn anymore"} A recent case brings up some personal demons for Amanda and she turns to alcohol to help her cope. Can Olivia get her to realise she needs help? 1/? Strong Amanda & Olivia friendship.


**This is my first attempt at an SVU story. Amanda is my favourite character and I want to do her justice so I'd love to hear your comments, good or bad, please review :) This takes place sometime after 13x14 but before the end of season 14, but there's no specific timeline.**

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_10:46pm_

You barely even register it as the amber liquid pours down your throat. After several beers and five shots of bourbon you don't feel the burn anymore. That doesn't matter anyway, you've already got enough pain, all you want to be is numb and as you motion to the bartender to refill your glass the gentle spinning of the room lets you know that you're well on the way to the oblivion you crave so much.

This little downtown dive has become a regular haunt for you in recent weeks. It's far enough away from any of your bookies that even if you feel the need to, you can't gamble, you're not that stupid. You know you're on thin ice already, Fin's been watching you like a hawk, always badgering you about going to meetings or hanging out with him after work.

You know you should be grateful to your partner, he's had your back through everything, and his support has never faltered. But there are times when a few cold ones at Fin's place just don't cut it, when talking about the same old crap at a meeting doesn't help and the only thing you crave is gambling or drinking. You're barely hanging on enough to resist your urge to place _just one bet._ So the only other option is to get blind drunk.

You lost big today on a case you and Fin had been building for weeks. A case that had hit too far too close to home. You just about deal with the rest of the horrors you see on a day to day basis. Somehow you manage to switch off from the pedophiles, murderers, serial rapists, you leave it at the office but every now and then you get a case that just won't leave you alone.

A 19 year old girl was raped and brutalised by her boss and the jury believed his fairytale of how it was consensual, that _she_ had come on to him. It was a classic he said-she said, and the jury sided with the wealthy powerful businessman rather than with the girl. Entitled sons of bitches thinking they can get away with whatever they want make your blood boil. Sighing, you down the shot in front of you, and automatically your hand goes up again.

Terry, the bartender, looks over at you with concern written all over his face. You've been here a lot, and you're pretty sure you've ranted to him on more than one occasion. But you don't want his sympathy tonight, you just want his liquor.

"C'mon Terry," you plead, swirling the tiny drop of bourbon left in the bottom of your glass.

"Manda I think you've had enough," he replies, shaking his head softly.

"That blonde at the end of the bar gets hotter with every shot," you smirk at him, trying to shift his focus, "one more, for me?" you smile.

He sighs, but reaches for the bottle anyway, "one more," he pours the light brown liquid into the glass and slides it back over to you, "you want me to call anyone for you?"

"No I'm good," you say. You've been catching the eye of the blonde guy at the end of the bar all evening, you're hoping you won't even have to go back to your apartment tonight, you're not sure you can face the empty expanse of it.

"Be careful," he says with a small smile.

You knock back the shot quickly, and after giving yourself a minute for the room to slow down, you hop haphazardly from the bar stool, grabbing on to the bar to steady yourself. You know he's been watching you too because before you even make it over to where he's standing he holds out a glass.

"I like a girl who can hold her liquor," he smirks, "I'm Jason, what's your name sweetheart?" he asks as he gives you an appreciative glance up and down.

"I'm Amanda, and good for you I don't like fruity little drinks," you say with a wink.

_11:51pm_

This gets easier every time. Picking up guys in bars, going home with them, having a few hours where you're too numb to care who it is or what you're doing. In a perverse sort of way you feel in control, your inhibitions are gone and you're not afraid. You're the one who can pick someone up and throw them away when you're done, like they don't matter. And that's why you need the bourbon, because it lifts that cloud from you, the hurt that threatens to choke you on a daily basis.

He whispers a dirty joke in your ear and you giggle, making sure to let him see what he wants to see. He must have bought the bottle, because he keeps pouring out shots for you and you know there's no way Terry would still be pouring them. The bourbon has loosened you up so much you don't even tense up when his hands start to roam over your body, when they slip under your shirt. Just the way you like it. You feel detached, almost as if you're not yourself.

"Amanda,"

You hear a vaguely familiar voice call out your name but you ignore it, you're too busy with Jason right now. But suddenly he stands up and pushes you off him. You stumble into the person behind you, who somehow manages to keep you from falling on your ass.

"Shit," you hiss, as a stinging pain rips through your ear. You can barely see it as you squint at him but your earring is caught in Jason's sweater and when he pushed you off it must have ripped out. "What the hell?" you exclaim as he backs further away from you.

"Look I don't want no trouble, we're just having a little fun," he says and he grabs his coat.

"Just leave," comes the voice again, and you realise its coming from the same person who caught you. Whirling around, you come face to face with Olivia. She's waving her badge around and she just put the fear of God into your date.

"Oh Jesus Christ," you mutter, as Jason walks past not even acknowledging your existence. The last thing you need right now is Olivia to be here. "What're you doin' here?"

"Bartender called Fin, but he's on a case and he couldn't get away,"

You can't believe this. Yes you're a bit more drunk than usual, you know from the way you're struggling to stand up straight, but you're still capable of looking after yourself. "So he sent _you_?" you ask harshly. You can't help but be defensive, there's nothing you want less than Olivia seeing you in this state.

"Can I buy you a drink? Now you're here," you ask flippantly, daring Olivia to get frustrated with you. That way she might leave. But she stands there, not at all flustered by your erratic behaviour.

"You've had enough," she says softly and you find yourself shaking your head even though you know she's right. You're barely steady on your feet and the room is swimming but you can't help but wish she'd just go, leave you to fall deeper into obscurity. "Come on."

Olivia loops an arm around your waist and you fall into her slightly and when she moves you have no choice but to comply. One foot in front of the other, it's harder than you realised it would be. She grabs your coat, only letting you stand on your own for a second, but it's too much and you find yourself sinking down the bar towards the floor. You barely hear a brief conversation between Terry and Olivia but you suddenly find yourself in his arms, and he's carrying you out back. He sets you down on an upturned bottle crate, making sure you're sitting upright and Olivia thanks him.

"Take as long as you need," he says, before he makes a swift exit.

Olivia drags a crate over to where you're sitting and sits down opposite you. You squint in the bright light of the storeroom, it's almost painful compared to the hazy darkness of the bar. You're definitely more drunk than usual, you realise. Well, you're usually already at some guys house before you're this bad.

"Sip it," Olivia instructs you as she passes over a bottle of water. Where she got it from you've no idea.

The bottle cap proves to be struggle but you finally get it open and take a few sips of the cold liquid. It's a tiny drop in a huge well of liquor but you surmise it might just help the inevitable hangover you're going to have. You sit for a moment just staring at the floor, then you remember the woman sitting opposite you. _Crap._

"I'm alright you can go now," you say, waving your hand back towards the bar.

But Olivia just cocks her head to the side and gives you a slightly amused but telling look. You know that look. It means she's not going to let this go.

"What's going on Amanda?" she asks.

"Just having a few drinks," you reply, the blatant lie rolling off your tongue a little too easily.

"Looks like more than a few," she says, "the bartender got your phone out of your coat pocket and called Fin. He couldn't get away so he called me. He was worried. Honestly, these last few days we've all been worried about you"

Olivia is using her victim voice. That soft soothing tone that she usually reserved for the most fragile of people and it annoys you.

"Well y'all don't have to worry about me, I'm a big girl," you say, shaking your head.

"Well I'm worried about that guy Amanda he's left bruises all over your neck,"

You reach up automatically to feel your neck. Nothing hurts but you're not surprised, you could have a broken leg right now and probably not feel it. You're not surprised about the bruises either, they are an occupational habit when you were drunk and sloppy.

"I've been looking after myself since I was big enough to hold a gun, I can take care of myself," you say, not wanting to elaborate further on that story. Turning a gun on your father when you were just 10 years old isn't something you tend to tell a lot of people. She raises an eyebrow at your remark but she doesn't say anything and you kick yourself as you realise she's storing that tidbit of information for future use.

"Yeah well, it didn't seem like it from where I was standing," she says quietly, "are you okay?"

"I'm just dru-…I'm fine. God Olivia why are you still here?" you shout. Her quiet and calm demeanour is so frustrating. It'd be easier if she was angry.

"Because I'm concerned about you."

"I don't need anyone fussin' over me," you insist. How hard is it for Olivia to realise it'd just be easier to leave you alone?

"That's part of the problem Amanda, you've got people who care about you, who've got your back. You need to start trusting someone. We're a team, we wanna help you," Olivia says, and you can tell she means it but you just can't stop the hostility that's bubbling away inside of you. You don't do trusting. Not anymore.

"Well I don't need helpin'. I'm not gamblin', you can check my pockets," you say, gesturing to your coat. You find yourself grateful that you've had just enough presence of mind not to slip back into that in recent weeks. "I just come to bars and pick up guys. That's not against the law 'Livia," you sit back, pleased that you've been able to make a coherent argument.

Olivia doesn't answer straight away. She looks at you strangely, as if she's wondering if she should speak or not. She takes a deep breath and sighs, then looks straight into your eyes, "It's not, but it won't help you heal," she says with a sad shake of her head.

You recoil slightly, momentarily confused, "what's that 'sposed to mean?" you ask, but there's a sinking feeling in your chest as you realise you already know what she's talking about. You'd brought it up once, ages ago. Of course Olivia wouldn't have forgotten.

"I know what happened in Atlanta," she reveals, her voice gentle and apologetic.

You never told her exactly _what_ had happened though. That means she must have been poking her nose in where it didn't belong. She pre-empts your reaction, holding her hands out in front of her in defence.

"I'm sorry, I talked to Cragen, this case it seemed to be hitting you so hard and you shut everyone out. He didn't go into details."

As if that made it any better? You close your eyes and ball your fists in frustration. You'd come to New York for a fresh start. Not to have everything dragged up again. Granted you weren't doing the best job of keeping yourself afloat but you were coping.

"What gives you the right to go diggin' up my past?" you ask angrily, "it's a closed book, leave it alone."

"I can't," Olivia says, shaking her head. You look at her incredulously, but find yourself speechless.

"Because I get it okay? But this," she says, "this is not the right way to deal with it,"

"Oh, I see and what do you want? Are we gonna bond over this? Some sisterhood of violated cops bullshit? No thanks."

Unfortunately you're not inebriated enough to miss the look of hurt that flashes across Olivia's face. She recovers almost immediately but you saw it. You cringe inwardly at how cruel the remark was. Bourbon did tend to bring out your nasty streak. Albeit annoying, all Olivia has done is be patient and kind. Your hand flies out and grabs hers in a half panic.

"Oh my God I'm so sorry, I didn't- I didn't mean that," you say quickly, hoping that in some way it'll make up for what you've just said.

"It's okay," she says with a small smile, squeezing your hand, "I should have asked _you_, when you first disclosed it to me. I'm sorry I didn't follow it up."

"To be honest I was kinda glad when you didn't bring it up again," you admit, biting your lip.

"And what about now?" she asks softly.

"I…uh," you falter, you realise you've been treading a thin line. You've sobered up just enough to realise that your earlier behaviour with that guy, Jacob, or Jason, had crossed a line. But you've also sobered up enough to realise that whatever you tell Olivia now you'll have to deal with in the morning. Once she hears it she can't unhear it. There's a part of you that's screaming for you to just get it all out, after all like she said, Olivia understands. She'd understand in a way that Fin wouldn't be able to. But you just can't.

"I'm pretty tired," you say, not registering the words until a few seconds after you've spoken them. Olivia doesn't press you though, she just accepts your dodging of the question.

"You can sleep it off at mine," she says as she hands you your coat. She raises her eyebrows at you, as if daring you to refuse her offer of hospitality.

"No, no, Liv, it's fine, I'll get a cab," you insist, as you fumble with the belt on your coat. You can't quite get it into a bow but it'll do.

"Honey I'm not letting you get into a cab, I'm only 15 minutes away," she explains as she holds her hand out to help you up.

You're grateful for Olivia's help as you clumsily get to your feet. Though you've sobered up minutely, the alcohol running through your veins is still affecting your motor function to the point where you have to lean on her as she walks you out to her car. The embarrassment of the situation finally starts to set in when Olivia has to lean over and help you with your seatbelt. This is Olivia Benson, someone you look up to in a professional capacity and respect as a person, practically carrying you out of a bar. She's got demons too, but she doesn't screw up like you. You sigh, trying to keep your eyes focused on the blur of headlights as they pass. It's not working though, the motion of the car is making you sleepy.

"Liv, I'm sorry," you say quietly, before your eyes slip closed.

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**There'll either be 1 or 2 more parts to this, depending on where my muse takes me, but I hope you've enjoyed this first chapter! Thanks for reading :)**


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